Gremlins
by CeCe Away
Summary: Dad's horrified scream reverberated around the walls. "Saaaaaaaaaaaam!" A pre-series hunt. Sam 16, Dean 20
1. Chapter 1

**The two WIPs I've got going right now are so full of angst, I just needed to go on a good old-fashioned hunt with the boys—before angels and missing souls and all that emotion . . . *shivers***

**Also, I'm a little behind on reciprocating reviews, but I'll get there . . . mainly for selfish reasons because I get introduced to a lot of good stories that way. **

**Pre-series. Dean is 20, Sam 16.**

**Usual Disclaimer applies: No rights to Supernatural are mine. *tearing up***

**Gremlins**

"Why can't we just go in and roast the things?"

John glanced at his oldest son, and placed his palm over the fidgeting hands, a warning to be quiet . . . and still. _You know why_, he hoped his look conveyed. They got one shot at this. They had to wait until dark when all the diurnal Gremlins returned to the cave. They had backtracked to it his morning from a fresh set of prints. They had to get them all together, not just the few that were already in there, because once the little nasties's cave was compromised, any survivors would scatter and it'd be hell tracking them all again.

Dean was a damn fine hunter and could remain scarily motionless when he had his prey sighted, but waiting for the monsters to show up, especially hunkered down without benefit of music or conversation, would never be one of the kid's hunting strengths.

Unlike Sam who had the rare ability to remain still and silent for hours. John let his gaze slide past Dean to the rocks and trees Sam wedged himself between a little higher up on the gentle slope. In the waning light, Sam looked like a statue. John hadn't seen his sixteen-year-old move for hours, though he knew that he had shifted, because the angle of his body was different from the last time he'd checked. A swell of pride rose up into John's chest. Even he couldn't reposition himself so smoothly that other hunters wouldn't notice. He'd been shifting clumsily himself, keeping circulation in stiff limbs that were eager for action. Of course knowing Sam, even though his body was completely relaxed, his brain was running a marathon, going over every tactic, each scenario, everything they knew about Gremlins, listening to every sound.

Sam's head turned, a slow unhurried movement that alerted both John and Dean to something coming. Then his eyes shifted back to John's and Sam dipped his head to the side. _Over there._

Beside him in the dense scrub, John felt Dean coil, anticipation to finally get this hunt going, vibrating off him in pulses. John followed Sam's line of direction to the trees a few yards beyond his youngest. He waited, trusting Sam's instincts.

There.

A shape emerged from the brush, moving down the hill toward the cave. It had a huge elongated head, seemingly too large for the child-sized body. It skittered down the slope, moving on all fours like a hairless monkey, spindly arms longer than the stocky legs.

Another movement gained his eye. Sam had lifted his hand near his head. Knowing he'd only make a large move like that to purposely gain their attention, John yanked his gaze back to the kid. Sam flicked his chin in their direction. Both John and Dean swiveled their focus behind them.

Close. Another Gremlin moved just on the other side of the tree John had been resting against for the last couple of hours. A wide leathery hand, again disproportionally large for the small body, paused a mere three feet from the tip of John's rifle barrel he had stretched out to the side. His hand eased over the hilt of his knife.

Scratchy inhalations ruffled the static air as the creature sniffed. All three hunters were completely still, not so much as a breath. John had insisted the boys use his specialized soap and shampoo he bought at the Army/Navy supplies for the last few days, the scent-eliminating kind wildlife hunters used because it lacked any perfumes. They'd also made a fire before they started out on the trail this morning and each stood in the smoke. So they should be good, their scents camouflaged, except Gremlins weren't most animals.

And though they'd eat just about anything, this particular colony of Gremlins had grown especially good at sniffing out humans. It started as sheep, pigs, and goats going missing from the rural farmsteads, but the Gremlins had moved on to several daytime hikers, and were now being bold enough to snatch people right off the streets of the rustic town. Eighteen people had been reported missing in the last two months, leaving the local authorities baffled. As far as John Winchester was concerned, that was eighteen people too many and he'd be damned before there'd be a nineteenth.

The Gremlin shuffled sideways, still sniffing the air, but in the opposite direction. Its large hand scraped around in the dry pine needles and John's eyes narrowed at the glimpse he got of the palm. He'd never seen anything like it, wet and rubber-like in ridged puckers. He made a mental note to document that in his journal later. Could be important. Could be nothing.

Finally the little beastie moved on and the Winchesters simultaneously breathed. For the next forty minutes, they watched as Gremlin after Gremlin loped past them and entered the sideways slash in the bottom of the opposite slope. It they hadn't followed the tracks up to it, they'd never had known it was an opening to a cave. A rough knot was forming in the pit of John's stomach. He estimated a group of at least five to ten Gremlins, but as the count got up to twenty-one, knowing there had already been more inside before they'd even arrived, his worry intensified. He'd never heard of a colony this large.

Well after dark and long after they'd seen their last Gremlin scamper past and disappear within the hole, Dean stood up out of hiding. "Can we please go kill them now?"

#

This was the best hunt ever! Okay, the waiting sucked, but as Gremlin upon Gremlin showed up, Dean's excitement grew. He imagined turning the valve on his propane torch and flaming every last one of them. Because even though they could be shot or knifed, their vital organs were too small and difficult to get to, plus they healed too fast for normal weapons to slow them down much, so the optimal way to put them down for good was fire.

"Change in plan." His dad pulled a couple of sticks of dynamite from the duffle bag.

Or that could work.

The explosion would be cool, but not nearly as fun as hand-frying the suckers. "We're just going to lob one of those in there?"

One of John's eyebrows quirked. Obviously Dean hadn't kept the displeasure out of his tone very well.

"This is a last resort." John shook his head, frowning. The old man was worried. "There were more Gremlins than I expected and we need to get every last one of them. You boys understand? Every last one."

Sam had shuffled up beside Dean. "Yessir," they said together.

"We'll go inside the cave as originally planned . . ." John passed a small headlamp to Dean and strapped the other one to his own forehead. Sam frowned, disappointment evidentthat he didn't get one of the two headlamps. Dean shrugged, winking at the kid. Sam looked away in annoyance.

The boys followed their father down the slope like obedient pups made to heel. The entrance to the cave lay low and long at the bottom of the ravine and slope, a slash barely as high as their knees. It'd be a tight squeeze crawling in and Dean only hoped the interior opened up. Fighting Gremlins while belly-crawling on his stomach just wasn't appealing.

They set the explosives at each end of the entrance, then trailed the fuse lines several yards out.

Crouched down at the cave, John pulled the small propane torches from the duffle, passing one to each of his sons and keeping the third for himself. Sam let out a barely audible huff, staring at the much thinner propane bottle he had been assigned. Dean was completely attuned to his dad, ready to obey every order because this is when it mattered. His adrenaline was kicking in, his hunter instincts adjusting into a calm focus.

Their dad zipped up the duffle. "Dean, you follow me. Sam, you have the rear and charge of the bag."

"Yessir," they answered again in unison just before John rolled onto his stomach and wriggled inside lengthwise much like he would scoot under a barely opened garage door.

They waited until they heard their dad's muffled "clear" and then Dean scrambled in after him. He did not like the closed in feeling of the rock around him, but fortunately the entrance was only a couple yards in when the ceiling sloped upward, high enough that while standing they had several feet of clearance above their heads.

The headlamp beams scissored across the walls as Dean and John looked around. The cavern was more like a tunnel, close walls and stretching out into a darkness ahead that their lights couldn't penetrate. There wasn't a Gremlin in sight, but the air reeked of them, a putrid mix of rotting meat and wet animal.

At the scrape sounding behind them, Dean turned and dragged the duffle from the low entrance that Sam was pushing ahead of him. Squatting down, Dean watched the kid's hands emerge first, one fist tight around his slender propane bottle while he elbow-crawled his way through. Dean smiled, waiting for Sam's face to screw up as the odor assaulted him. Yep, there it was. Classic bleh-face, nose scrunched up. That never got old.

"You mind?" Sam squinted, lightly smacking Dean away to get the headlamp beam out of his eyes. Dean looked to the side, removing the direct light from his brother. He knew better than to limit someone's ability to adjust to a darker environment on a hunt, especially when that someone was Sam. The headlamps were a new addition to their gear and he'd have to get used to them.

"All right, boys," John spoke quietly. "Stay sharp. Dean, you torch anything on the left. I'll take the right. And Sam, you take anything that gets past us."

"Yeah," Dean teased. "Just don't aim your baby flame-thrower in our direction." Didn't matter because no Gremlin was getting past him.

"Afraid your fart gases will ignite and flame up your—"

"Sam!" It amazed Dean how his dad's whisper could still sound like a shout. Sam shut up, but looked far from repentant. Dean pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. He had to admit that was a good one. Sam looked over and must have noticed Dean's mouth curling because his own tugged up in a pleased grin.

Sam hefted the duffle over his shoulder and they started out. Another light clicked on. Dean looked back to see Sam had brought out his flashlight. For a moment he thought about trading his headlamp for it because he didn't like that Sam didn't have a hand free to turn the valve of his torch or grab his gun if needed.

It looked like the tunnel split up ahead, which was bad luck all around because if they took the wrong fork and the majority of the Gremlins were in the other one, they could get behind them and box them in, but as they got closer they found it wasn't two tunnels, but a section of wall that had caved in, leaving a thick stalactite-looking pillar standing in the middle of the tunnel.

"Looks like tonsils in someone's throat," Dean quipped.

"I think you mean uvula," Sam said. "And it doesn't look like that at all."

"Because it looks like a tonsil."

"How would you even know what—eeew." Dean's and John's beams of light snapped toward the direction of Sam's exclamation. Since he had the only flashlight, he'd kept his beam more on the floor while theirs had been directed higher. His light played over bones, a long thick skull, cracked femur bones that had teeth marks gnawed into them. They'd known Gremlins would eat just about anything, and apparently that included each other.

"That's just gross." Dean moved closer to examine the funky looking skeleton while Sam's flashlight beam moved away.

"Dad, stop!" Sam shouted. The warning tone had Dean swiveling around to see his father frozen mid-step, Sam's flashlight revealing the drop below John's raised boot.

Carefully John moved back from the edge he'd almost tumbled over. Dean and Sam raced to his side, all three lights angled downward. It wasn't exactly a sheer drop since the walls were bumpy with small ledges and protrusions, but their combined lights didn't reach bottom either. Dean toed one of the little rocks that littered the sandy floor over the edge. They stood silent, waiting for the echo that never came.

"Damn. That's ah . . . deep," Dean stated the obvious. Looking down into the dark hole, a sick feeling washed over him.

John reached across Dean to squeeze Sam's shoulder. When the kid looked at him, John nodded his approval. It was as close to a thank you as their dad ever got.

Dean resisted the urge to cast his beam over his brother to see if he was blushing like a girl. Instead he angled it across the chasm. It was pretty far to the other side with only a slight protruding lip against the bottom of one side of the wall. While he thought he could balance it no problem, he wasn't sure he was up to watching his dad and brother try to do the same. He also wondered how the fat-footed Gremlins had managed it. They did have fairly muscled legs.

"Dad, how far do you think these Golem-things can jump?"

Hands on his hips, studying the hole, John shook his head. "I'd say at least that far 'cause there's no other way they could have gone. Okay, we're going to need to—" John was cut off as one of the beasties dropped on him and they both went to the ground.

"Dad!" Reflexively, Dean looked up. His light played over several Gremlins crawling along the ceiling. _Oh my God_, the things could move across the rock like lizards!

A blast of fire sprayed over the ceiling—Sam's torch—a moment before Dean's joined his. Squealing, one, two, four creatures burst into little fireballs and fell to the ground. Another streaked by, falling into the hole like a meteor. Man! These suckers didn't just burn, they full on erupted. "Dad!"

"I'm okay."

Dean twisted to see his dad on the ground at the exact moment he kicked the creature off him and Sam's flame arced toward the beastie. Except the flame sputtered and died as Sam's propane ran out and the Gremlin launched itself at the kid.

"Sam!" Two jets of flame converged as both Dean and John eliminated the threat to their youngest family member.

Until another dropped onto him. Dean called out to his brother at the same time Sam screamed a warning to him and something smacked against Dean's back. He felt the burn of teeth clamp into his shoulder, heard both his dad and brother shouting for him.

Suddenly Sam was behind him, slamming the butt of his propane bottle over and over into the fugly that seemed stuck to Dean's back, while Dean twisted, turned, fingers scrabbling to get the thing off him. All at once, it came loose, pulling Dean off balance and fighting to stay on his feet, as his dad's horrified scream reverberated around the walls. "Saaaaaaaaaaaam!"

Dean spun, expecting to come face to face with Sam who was behind him. Except he wasn't. There was only empty air. Dean looked down and his world dropped away.

He stood mere inches from the hole.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Face crumbled in a devastation Dean had never witnessed, John poured flame across the ceiling and walls. "Sammy!" Burning Gremlins fell around them until any remaining had skittered away. The air was heavy with smoke and the smell of charred flesh.

Dean dropped to his stomach and peered over the edge, his light flickering over the bumpy walls. "Dad! Dad! He's okay, he's right there!" _Please be okay, please be okay_. Sam lay on a thin ledge, sideways, one arm dangling downward. He was so still, obviously unconscious. He was only about ten feet down. "Sam!"

"Dean, stop. Don't wake him up." John had come up beside him, was breathing hard. "God." He ran a shaky hand over his chin. "If he wakes and starts flailing . . . he'll fall. Okay, okay. One of us has to get down there right now, before . . ." John was up and running across the cave, stepping over burnt and still glowing Gremlins, to get the duffle.

Dean was up and ready, grabbing at the rope. "I'll do it."

John's brows lowered, the same way Sam's did when he didn't like something.

"There's no way I'll be able to pull both you and Sam up," Dean reasoned. Of course he wasn't sure his dad could pull him and his brother up either, but they'd worry about that later. Right now he had to get down there and keep Sam from shifting in his sleep and . . . Dean swallowed, desperately wanting visual confirmation that that hadn't happened while they were getting the rope.

Not wasting another moment, John shoved part of the rope into Dean's hands and then began tying one end around his own waist. "He's not that far down so tie yourself in the middle of the rope. Leave enough length to secure around Sam once you get down there. Around each leg and looped around your waist—like a climber's chair—you remember how to do that?"

"Yeah Dad." He made a loop around one leg, then knotted it so it wouldn't slip tight and cut off his circulation.

"Once you get down there, use the remainder of the rope and tie it around your brother the same way," he explained again, a telling sign of his father's worry. "Okay? You got this?"

"I got it. Don't worry. I won't let him fall."

John gripped Dean's arm. "I know you won't."

They each hurried to get their parts of the rope tied properly. When they were ready, John ran over to Dean's "tonsil" wall that split the tunnel in two. He went through one side and emerged out the other side, trailing the rope around the rock and came back to Dean. "Ready?"

Dean nodded, knowing that as his dad walked slowly back toward the tonsil stone, the rope would wind back around, making him lower. Normally he'd hesitate before stepping off a ledge, but Sam was down there. Sam could fall. Without a second thought, Dean stepped backwards, planting the soles of his boots against the wall. And watched his dad take a step at the same time he took a step downward. Soon he was past the lip and staring at the wall of the tunnel.

His shoulder throbbed where the damn beastie had bitten him, but he moved through it anyway. He could worry about that later.

He walked down along the side of where Sam lay as his dad let the rope out, until he was even with his brother. Too afraid to call out to his dad to stop in case his yell inadvertently woke Sam, he kicked off the wall, making the rope slap at the hole's lip, hoping his dad got the message.

As the rope swung out, Dean took advantage and jerked it sideways so when he came back against the wall he was right in front of Sam.

His descent immediately stopped. Message received.

"Kay, Sammy," he whispered, relief flooding through his veins that he was there. First things first. Dean didn't dare brush his fingers over Sam's skin to check him. The kid was still in a pretty precarious position. Even with Dean blocking the way, he was on a rope. A rope that could swing away from the wall if Sam shifted and Sam could still roll off between him and the ledge.

So resisting the urge to do a quick assessment, find out how his brother was hurt, why he was unconscious, instead Dean brought the rest of the rope dangling beneath him up and snaked it under one of Sam's legs to begin the first loop and knot. He was on the second leg when Sam started rousing.

And rolling forward.

"Sam! Stop!" Heart racing, Dean pressed back on Sam to keep him put, but it only made Dean swing out, scooting Sam's hip across the ledge since his legs were looped in the rope. If Sam came off the ledge now, he'd fall back and his legs would just slip out. He had to get the rope secured around Sam's waist and get him tied upright against him. "Sam! Don't move! Wake up, wake up now!" Dean threw as much authority in his voice as he knew how, even though the tremor bled through. "Sam! You be still, you hear me! You be still!"

As if the order penetrated through the clouds of sleep, Sam's muscles relaxed and he settled.

"Dean?" John's voice filtered from above, worry straining the timbre.

"We're okay," Dean called up, a little high-pitched. "Almost ready."

"Deaaaan?" The slight murmur brought his gaze back down. Sam's eyelids were lifting drowsily.

Dean didn't have time to ease him into anything. "Sam, stay very still. You trust me, right?"

That made the sixteen-year-old's eyes flash open.

"Don't look down." Dean softened his tone. "And don't move except how I tell you."

"Wha-?"

"You fell. But I'm gonna get this rope around you and we're getting out of here. Don't look down," he cautioned again, seeing Sam's gaze dip low. The kid's eyes snapped back up at the order.

"You have to do everything I tell you. Okay?"

Sam nodded. Warmth settled in Dean's chest, knowing in normal situations his sibling would balk at a suggestion like that, but when it counted, he trusted without exception.

"Okay. I need you to sit up. Think you can do that?"

"Yeah." Sam's voice rasped—his morning voice, still groggy with slumber.

"Just take it slow. There's not much room to maneuver."

Dean anchored his hands on the wall while Sam pushed himself up, scooting carefully until he was sitting on the lip of the ledge. Once he was up, Dean could make out the raw skin on the side of Sam's face he had been laying on. It looked like road rash where he'd probably scraped across the wall going down. He imagined there was probably a hefty goose-egg that went along with it just under his hair somewhere. He tamped down the worry over that and immediately set to getting the rope around the kid's back and then to the front where he started tying it to the part of the rope around his own chest with a slip knot that could be pulled tighter once Sam was off the ledge.

He had it nearly secured when a soft scratch made the hair on his arms stand on end. He turned his head, sweeping the headlamp's beam with him and found himself staring into the small beady eyes of a Gremlin climbing up the wall next to them. Dean swallowed past a sudden lump and looked down. Several more were climbing up from the darkness below. _Sonofa . . ._

Dean looked back to the monster next to them. Things were even uglier up close. The Gremlin's rubbery lips pulled back from curving teeth in a snarl as Dean pulled the slipknot tight and shouted, "Dad! Now!"

The rope immediately jerked. Sam and Dean's chests bumped together and Dean just held on, bracing his feet on every little protuberance, trying to help his dad with their weight as much as he could.

They were moving slow, but steadily upward in jerks and stops. Dean could only imagine his dad up above, straining against their combined weight, using the tonsil rock as leverage for his feet. Sam's arms wrapped around his neck, clinging tightly.

The Gremlin moved with them, stopping when they stopped, until it finally scampered the rest of the way over the top.

"Dad, look out!" Dean screamed at the same time John shouted and the beast shrieked and suddenly they were falling, the walls of the hole rushing past them, crashing into several Gremlins that peeled away. They slammed into the rock and Sam's body went limp, his head and arms falling back as the rope wrenched to a stop.

"Sam! Dean!" The call came from far overhead. Dean was breathing so hard he couldn't speak. "Boys! Answer me dammit!"

"We're good," Dean squeaked, then tried again. "Good, Dad." Except they weren't. Sam had smacked into the wall, hard. "Just get us out of here!" He pulled Sam's head to his shoulder, felt wetness in the matted hair and rough broken skin at the back of his head. _Aw, Sammy_.

The rope moved upward again, slower than before. His dad's muscles had to be burning, but Dean knew his father wouldn't give up. The intervals between stopping and inching upward became longer. He looked around to pinpoint the Gremlins. Apparently their little tumble, knocking several of them off the wall, had them spooked because they were keeping a wary distance. A few skittered up to the ceiling, moving out of sight.

"Dad, there's Gremlins above you!"

"I know." Dean was shocked his dad's voice was so close. His gaze shot up, his line of sight barely an inch higher than the rim. His dad was flat on his back, head and shoulders over the hole. He pulled on the rope that ran back toward the tonsil rock and around it, trailing along the ground to them. Most alarming was the Gremlin clamped around his leg, teeth embedded in John's thigh and his dad not doing a damn thing about it because pulling on that rope, getting his boys out of that hole was John Winchester's highest priority.

John shifted back some more, farther out over the hole, and Dean realized that his father was ready to go over the edge, taking the Gremlin's weight with him to give his sons that last little pull that would carry them up out of there.

"Dad?"

"Get Sammy out of here. That's an order."

"I'm tying off as soon as we're up."

John nodded. The rope was around his waist. He could climb back up. Their dad could do anything. He could climb up. Dean could pull him up. They would do this. Get Sammy out. Pull dad up. Doable. All doable. Dean's heart was beating a mile a minute.

John shifted again. The rope inched higher. Dean braced a hand on the ledge, the other still cradling Sam's head.

And suddenly a Gremlin ran across the ground, grabbed Sam by the shoulders and heaved up like he weighed nothing. Since Dean was tied to him he was lifted too and then they were being dragged across the ground, Sam's body bouncing roughly beneath Dean's.

They came to an abrupt stop when the rope twisted around the tonsil pillar, grainy hemp digging into their flesh. Dean felt Sam's body lift as the beast tugged the kid's arm and bit into it. Dean screamed, shoving, slapping at the monster, but with the way he was tied to Sam on his stomach, he couldn't get any leverage.

But their dad had somehow gotten up, gotten the other Gremlin off his leg and was there, stabbing his knife into the leathery back over and over until the grotesque head lifted, hissing and John kicked it away. Again, again, stomping on the short neck while bones crunched beneath his boot and the little beastie went still.

Pivoting, John slashed the blade through one of the ropes between the boys, giving Dean room to work, and dropped the knife before racing away. As his fingers curled over the hilt, Dean heard the whoosh of a propane torch and the squeal of monsters being burned.

Dean made quick work of the rope, getting himself separated from Sam just as their dad ran back and thrust both propane torches in Dean's hands then bending, scooped Sam over his shoulder and ran.

There was no need for spoken orders. Dean was on Gremlin burning duty. Seeing the remaining Hobbit wannabes were still fleeing the other way from John's last eruptions of flames, Dean raced after his family.

John was just up ahead, running, but with a tight limp. Sam's arms swayed against their father's back with each pounding step. They raced to the cave exit. Skidding to one knee, John pulled Sam gently from his shoulder, laying him on the ground by the opening. "Dean, you first, and pull your brother out. Go Dean, now!"

The Gremlins were getting closer. He could hear them pattering across the rock. A lot of them by the sound of it. Dean dropped the torches near his dad and scrambled beneath the low opening, twisting around on his belly to reach back and grab the leg of Sam's jeans and the bunched material of the kid's jacket just beneath his armpit. Scooting backwards, he dragged his young sibling across the sand and out into the night. Loud screeches and the flash of fire flickered from inside.

Trusting his dad to do his job and knowing his dad was trusting him to get Sammy out of there, Dean wrapped his arms beneath his brother's shoulders and started dragging him backwards across the ravine to the other slope, the wounds on his own shoulder in agony, his gaze steady on the flashing firelight coming from inside the cave.

All at once his dad was out, running full out, a dark silhouette, rimmed by flames spouting out far behind him as John twisted, still running, the torch on its highest setting, arcing a jet of flames yards and yards behind him, flames that poured over short little monsters that spilled out of the cave after him. Monsters that erupted into fireballs that spun off across the ground, spun over fuse lines laid down for dynamite.

The explosion kicked across the air, rolling through the ground, rocking Dean off his feet and tearing Sam out of his arms.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

John came to, coughing so hard he thought he might break a rib. Miraculously his headlamp was still on. Sooty dust and leaves and other debris clouded the air in the beam's light. _Gremlins. Explosion. Shit_. A moan rumbled inside his chest though he couldn't hear it over the shrill ring vibrating in his head. He must not have been out long if the air was still settling.

He'd been running full out, knowing the Gremlins and the fire and the dynamite . . . And his sons . . . John shot up to a sitting position and the world immediately took a slow revolution around him. He waited for it to pass, fear steeping incrementally. Had the boys gotten far enough away before the cave was blown to hell?

Shaking, he took a quick inventory for injuries. Except for his thigh that burned where the Gremlin's teeth clamped down, he'd come out of this rather unscathed. He got to his feet slowly and shouted, "Boys!" _That_ he heard. It sounded far away and buried in mud, but he could hear his voice, which meant once the ringing subsided he'd be fine.

"Dean! Sam!" He started walking upslope, feeling the rise of ground through the strain on his legs, because he certainly couldn't see anything in the dark smoke-filled night.

"Dad."

John paused, uncertain of the direction the call came from. Had to be a shout, though beneath the ringing it was barely a whisper.

A hand clasped around his arm and John startled, unaccustomed to not being able to hear another's approach. Dean, covered with dirt and ash, his headlamp gone, and John realized Dean must have found him by following the light of his beam.

Dean's eyes were wide, his mouth moving. Kid was freaking out. John leaned forward trying to catch words. "Can't find . . . gone . . . ripped away . . . don't . . ."

"Sam?" Sam was gone. Dean couldn't find him. John grasped Dean's forearms. "Son, I can't hear you. Too close to the denotation. Show me where you were."

Dean's eyes tracked around in confusion. Everything was dark, hazy. The pitch of night layered with smoke and swirling debris. Several of the smaller trees were now splintered, downed. John's heart dropped. If Sam was beneath one of those . . . "That's okay, we'll find him. Your best guess, Dean. In relation to the cave, where were you?"

They both looked back to where the cave entrance once was, still easy to locate with shells of monsters glowing like embers.

Dean tugged him forward, shuffling. John stopped, knowing instantly that something was wrong. He looked down, the light showing Dean was barely putting any weight on his right foot. "Ankle?"

"Doesn't matter." Dean shook his head. John heard that more clearly, the ringing lessening.

"Sit down. I'll look for Sam."

"No Sir." _That_ John heard distinctly. Dean hobbled forward again. "Not until we know Sam's okay."

John wasn't going to argue, knowing Dean would crawl around the entire slope if it came to it. "All right. You take it slow, searching a tight area and I'll range wide." Dean nodded agreement to that. "Where do you think you were?"

His son looked back at the cave, lips smacking repeatedly together the way they did when he was nervous, yet trying to stay focused. Resolved, his dirty face hardened, lips stopped moving. "This way. I'm pretty sure we were just over here." He limped a few yards up the slope and then turned to face the cave. "I was pulling him." He cupped his arms out as though he still dragged his brother. His breathing was increasing, chest rising and falling in hard pants. "Then the explosion . . . and Sam . . ." Dean shook his head, eyes wide. ". . . Sam was torn away. Dad, I don't know which way . . . he was just all of a sudden gone . . . I don't know which way."

"It's all right." John forced his voice to be steady. Seeing his usually unruffled son breaking, scared him. "He couldn't have been thrown far." _But he was thrown_. They all were. "We'll find him." John pulled the headlamp off his own head and handed it to Dean. He wanted to keep him within his sight as well as give Dean the added benefit of seeing where he placed his injured foot. "I'm going to look right. You search a small grid around here. " He patted Dean's shoulder. "We'll find him."

Dean nodded rapidly and angled the small square lamp in his hand to illuminate the ground. John turned to go in the opposite direction. He could barely see a thing and all the torn leaves and soot that had settled from the thick air, that were still settling, left a lumpy carpet of bits and fragments that all looked the same.

He walked slowly, feeling carefully for twigs and rocks beneath his foot before shifting his weight on each step. He couldn't afford to twist his ankle, not when both his sons were counting on him. His thigh was killing him. He was twenty steps out. In combat he'd seen men ride a blast-wave pretty far, but no farther than twenty steps, unless they rolled when they hit. Which in this situation would mean downhill. John sidestepped to move down the slope a little and the side of his boot slid in the dirt, coming to rest against something soft, pliable.

He froze. His pulse banged in his ears as loudly as the ringing had earlier.

He crouched down, afraid to hope that they'd get this lucky. He couldn't see a damn thing. He felt around with his hands, meeting fabric, grainy with dirt. Bunching it between his fingers, he found goose-pebbled skin beneath, the dip between hips and back, the knobby bones of Sam's spine. And small movements with each inhalation on his side. John squeezed his eyes closed, letting the shakiness of the sudden relief work through him. He needed that light.

"Dean! Over here!"

He watched as the receding light suddenly changed direction, coming right at him. As Dean picked his way over, John checked for a pulse—slow, but there. He ran his hands over Sam's back, over his legs, finding nothing of immediate concern. One of the kid's arms was bent awkwardly beneath him. John didn't dare move it—or him—until he could see what he was doing. The back of Sam's head had a nasty gash that was wet and filthy, but not bleeding profusely, probably more to the dirt packed in it than anything else.

When the light played over them, John realized exactly how lucky they'd been. Sam was covered in the same debris that blanketed the ground, hair, clothes, skin, even his boots, blending in completely. Had it been daylight, they still wouldn't have been able to see him. Although he and Dean were likewise covered, it hadn't occurred to John what they could have been up against.

"Dad?" Dean was staring, his voice child-like. "Is he . . .?"

"He's alive, Dean. He's going to be fine."

Dean's legs seemed to go out from under him and he sank wobbly to his knees. John glanced at him briefly, noting the glassiness to his gaze. "Hold the light. I need to turn him."

Dean nodded, steadied the headlamp in his grip.

Reaching over Sam and under to hold his arm steady, John lifted Sam by the chest, rolling him by the shoulder back toward him while gently guiding his arm. He got him on his back, checking his arm first. "Wrist's broken." He pressed Sam's stomach. "Soft." Felt each rib. Sam's face was streaked with dirt, long eyelashes coated and making them look even thicker. John slid his fingers gently around each contour, noting the scrapes on his cheek and a goose-egg beneath the hairline above his temple. Two head injuries within minutes of each other. He'd been unconscious for a long time. Not good.

Dean watched silently. And earlier John had thought the kid could never be still. Worry streamed between them, a heavy twisting thing. "He's in good shape, Dean. His wrist is the only thing broken."

"And his head," Dean whispered. _And his head_. John swallowed.

Dean lowered his palm slowly to rest on Sam's forehead as though he'd been afraid to touch him until now. "Dad, Sam didn't flinch when that Gremlin bit into his arm. How far out of it do you have to be to not feel a Gremlin biting you?"

John's fingers shook, curling into the material of Sam's dirty jacket. He remembered the shooting pain of the creature's teeth piercing his thigh. He wanted to reassure Dean, didn't know how. "We . . ." He cleared his tightening throat. "We need to get to the top of the slope, get out of this smoke, get a fire going and get your brother warm."

"We're staying the night?" Dean sounded all of five.

"You can't walk out on that ankle in the dark."

"But you could go, get Sam out . . ."

"Dean, I'm not sure I can do any better on this leg. One misstep for either of us, especially carrying Sammy. Son, his head can't take any more abuse. Besides, we need to stick together."

"Yeah, okay."

"Think you can make it up the hill? I don't want any of us breathing this in all night."

"I'll make it."

"Didn't even need to ask, did I?"

"No Sir." _That's my boy._

Not wanting Sam's wrist to dangle, John carried him in his arms this time. It was slow going. He couldn't see where he stepped, had to rely on Dean splashing the way ahead with light and feeling each step. Even with Sam's slender build, teenagers were heavy and unwieldy, long legs and his uninjured arm dangling. Except that arm was injured too. John had forgotten. The Gremlin's teeth clamped on the kid's arm and hadn't that been a sight to jolt a father's adrenaline into full gear?

As they neared the top, the air cleared, the smoke and debris settling into the ravine. John spotted a good sized boulder with a nice area between several trees to get a fire going. He headed over there.

"Dean, push a bunch of that leaf-litter in front of the rock before I lay Sam down." His arms were aching, leg throbbing, but John held his son a while longer while Dean was on the ground, hurriedly pushing most of the fallen leaves into a pile, leaving the dirt beneath bare as he smoothed it out into a long bed.

Grateful, John laid Sam down. The headlamp flickered, batteries nearing their end. They'd have only the glow from the three-quarter moon left to see by. John exhaled, staring at his youngest's still features, concern over how long he'd been out gnawing at him.

John stood, waited for the sudden flare of pain in his leg to subside. It didn't. He sighed. He was tired. "Dean."

"Yeah Dad?"

"You still have your lighter?"

Dean nodded. John smiled. "Clear an area for a fire. I'll be right back."

"Here." Dean reached up to hand John the waning headlamp. He didn't have to go more than a few steps. There was plenty of broken branches and tree limbs. John picked the driest pieces, stacking them next to Dean who already had the beginnings of a fire going with teepee'ed twigs over dry pine needles. John took a couple more trips to make sure they had enough wood throughout the night. Selecting a few strips of bark he could work into splints for both boys, John settled once more by Sam's side.

Kid still hadn't moved and the snaking fear over that slithered up John's spine. "Sammy? Son, can you hear me? I need you to wake up now." He continued to murmur to him as he worked Sam's filthy jacket off, careful of the broken wrist and then again of the bites on his other arm. The arms of Sam's T-shirt and skin of his forearms were clean, a stark contrast to the rest of him. It almost looked like the kid wore gloves.

Pulling the flask of holy water from the inside pocket of his jacket, John poured it over the bite marks. He waited, hoping that might have made Sam at least stir, but there was no reaction. The worry slinked farther up his spine.

Dean crawled up beside him. "What can I do?"

"Start unlacing Sam's boots." Sam was the only one of them without an injury to his leg, but also the one who probably wouldn't be walking out of here on his own power. "Use the bark and laces to splint his wrist." John shrugged out of his own jacket, started unbuttoning his shirt to get to his T-shirt beneath. He wished they still had the duffle that had been left behind in the cave. Some supplies would be nice about now. But when it came to a choice between their equipment and one of his sons, his child would win out every time.

Dean had one lace out and moved to Sam's other side to work on the other boot.

"Do you still have your flask?"

Dean looked up, stopped what he was doing to check his inside pocket where John insisted they both keep holy water on them, though he hadn't yet explained in too much detail about demons, just that they were out there and to splash holy water onto anything they weren't sure of it. Like wounds made by Gremlin's teeth. John pulled his T-shirt over his head and poured water over one corner of it.

Dean pulled his flask out. "Got it. Need more for Sammy?"

John carefully turned Sam's head and gingerly began cleaning out the gash. "I think I have enough. Not much I can do with this at any rate without making it bleed more. I should have enough to tend to your shoulder so we can drink whatever is left in yours. I think I felt the flask in Sam's jacket as well, so we should be good. Dean?"

John glanced up at his oldest's uncharacteristic silence. Normally there would have been a _I can pour water on my own damn shoulder _outburst. Dean stared at the laces and bark in his hands like he didn't know what to do with them. John leaned closer, staring at Dean over Sam's body. Firelight reflected in Dean's eyes. His pupils were huge. _Dammit. He should have known._ All the signs were there. His hesitancy to first touch Sam, the slower mannerisms, the way his voice sounded like a much younger child . . . _Shock._

"Dean, I need you to lie down. Right now."

His gaze filtered sluggishly upward. "Wha . . .? But Sam." Forehead creased. "I need to . . . something . . . for Sammy."

Stubborn mule, even when he was shaken and didn't know exactly what was going on anymore. "That's right. You need to take care of Sam. Sam's cold. You need to lie down next to him right now and keep him warm."

John quickly moved around Sam to get to Dean. He spread more of the leaf-litter out to give Dean a place next to his brother where the cold ground wouldn't seep up into his bones.

"Sam's cold?" Dean looked up at John, his eyes liquid and pleading to know what to do and John wanted to weep.

"Lay down right here. Stay on your back." He lifted Sam's injured hand so it wouldn't be jostled while Dean wriggled on. Once Dean was settled, John laid his jacket over them both, keeping Sam's hand out so he could splint it.

John sank back on his heels, breathing a moment, before he set back to work. He splint a wrist. Splint an ankle. Washed Dean's shoulder and then tackled the bites on his own leg. All the while Dean murmured, fidgeting in sleep, the signs of shock lessening . . . and Sam remained deathly still.

By the time he'd done everything he could do for them, John was exhausted. He added more wood to the fire, put his long-sleeved shirt back on and sat on the other side of Sam, keeping him between himself and Dean. He leaned back against the boulder and found it surprisingly comfortable.

His eyes felt grainy, his body tired beyond belief, his leg throbbing. He'd like nothing better than to close his heavy eyelids, give in to exhaustion, but he was his children's vigil.

Soft movement tugged at his aching leg. Instantly alert, John glanced down at the long fingers grabbing at a wrinkled fold in his jeans.

"Sammy?" he whispered. _Thank God, thank God._

The shaggy head tilted upward, large eyes glimmering in the fire's glow within the ash-caked face.

"Wha . . . happen-?" Sam moaned, the muscles in his face tightening in pain, cracking lines in the dried dirt coating his features.

"Hey, easy. C'mere." John shifted Sam up higher, pulling him against his side, tucked beneath his protective arm, head on his chest. At the movement, Dean stirred, readjusting his position closer against Sam's leg.

Sam moved his head just enough to see what was moving against him. "Is Dean okay?"

John smiled. "Hurt his ankle. He'll be fine."

"And you're okay?" But before John could answer, Sam whimpered, his hand curling tight onto John's shirt. His bright, capable, too-smart-for-his-own-good teenager was fucking whimpering.

"Is it your head?"

Sam's nod was infinitesimal and tight. That's it. Along with his lighter and holy water, he was also carrying pain meds on his person for now on too.

Placing his large palm on Sam's head, he started massaging, careful to not go directly over the wounds. "Does that help?"

"A little." Sam's voice was small, hurting. John continued the slow rhythm, hoping to lull the pain away. He needed a distraction.

"What was that word you got stuck on in the spelling bee?"

"That was in Fourth Grade, Dad." A huff.

John grinned. "I thought that red-headed girl had you."

Sam snuggled in closer. "Amphisbaena."

"That's right. You know, I doubt I could spell it. Amphisbaena."

"Has an A and a E togeth—Wait. How do you know that? I thought you weren't there?"

The pads of John's finger kept steady pressure on Sam's head. It seemed to be working, Sam was sinking closer into him. "I drove like a madman to get there. Though I only made it for the last twenty minutes, right as you were kicking that huffy little red-head's as- . . . pride."

"You did?" Sam went quiet. John wished he could see more than just the top of his head. Sam's face was always so expressive, he could generally tell exactly what he was thinking. "Why didn't Dean and I see you after?"

"Got a 911 page from Jim. When I got to a phone, he was in a bad way and I had to leave immediately."

"I remember that. You brought Pastor Jim to our motel that night." John heard a grin in Sam's voice. "Was the only time I saw him drunk."

_"_Well I had to set his arm and there weren't any painkillers."

Sam tilted his head upward to look at him and something tugged in John's chest at the trusting eyes. _God_, he loved this kid.

"When you went out to grab us dinner, Dean and I got an earful of things Jim did before he became a Pastor."

John's brows shot up. He hadn't known that. But he did know Jim wasn't the same gentle soul he was after he found religion. Oh man, what had the preacher told his sons?

"Dad?"

"Mmmm?"

"Thanks for coming . . . you know, to the spelling bee."

His fingers stopped moving for a moment. "Sure thing, Son. I was very proud." He was also proud standing in the back of the auditorium with Rugaru guts all over his clothes during the final match of that mathlete competition. Boring as hell, but he'd been fascinated watching his son's happiness at doing something so ordinary with ordinary kids. "I meant to tell you how much, but with everything . . ."

"Yeah. Pastor Jim was hurt." Sam grinned again and John's curiosity burned to know what the inebriated Priest had told them.

"How's your head?"

"Better?" Which meant it still hurt like a mother. "Can you keep rubbing?"

"All night, kiddo."

"Mmmmm." Sam nuzzled against him the way he used to when he was small and everything inside of John went soft. The teen would be mortified if he wasn't hurting so bad. John continued rubbing Sam's head, slow firm strokes and he soon felt the heaviness of sleep overtake Sam's body.

He kept up the little massage for another thirty minutes until his hands grew tired and Sam no longer whimpered when he paused. Tucking Sam closer into his side, John rested his cheek along the top of Sam's head to wait the rest of the night out.

#

Dean cracked his eyes open and was met by a dirty boot missing its laces next to his nose. _Laces? Sam's wrist._ He lifted his head, followed ash-encrusted jeans up to see something that made him blink the sleep out of his eyes. Sam was sleeping nestled tightly to their father's side. Their dad had his arms loosely wrapped around the kid, his features relaxed. The embers of the fire were a dull glow in the pre-dawn light.

"Dad?"

John's eyes tracked over to him.

"Is Sam going to be all right?"

"He's gonna be fine. He woke up a few hours ago, was alert and talking."

_That's my boy, Sammy._ It felt like Dean's muscles had been tense for hours and finally loosened.

"Keep an eye on him for a while." John started shifting out from under the teen, settling him back against the boulder.

"Where ya going?" Dean eyed his father as he stood, stretching strained limbs. He grimaced as he worked a hand over his thigh.

"Down the slope. I just want to make sure the detonation took care of the cave and there isn't a way for any Gremlins to get out." Dean's nose crinkled at that, imagining the surviving beasties stuck inside with nothing to eat but each other. Talk about survival of the fittest.

As John shuffled out of view, Dean scooted up to sit next to his brother. His shoulder wasn't as bad as it was yesterday and with his ankle splinted, it hardly hurt at all. Course he hadn't put any weight on it yet. Walking out of here was going to suck big time. "Hey, Sammy," he nudged his sibling, wanting to see for himself that he was okay.

Sam's face immediately crinkled. "What?"

"You okay?"

"I was." Those moss-colored eyes slipped open, bright in the streaked face. "Now my head hurts."

"Sorry." The kid was awake. He was being bitchy and he was okay. He'd been so still last night. "Is it bad?"

"Just a headache. I've had worse."

"Sure you have." Dean grinned.

"Where's Dad?" Sam's gaze flickered around, worried.

"He just went to make sure all the stupid gremtards are dead."

"Are they?"

"Yeah." Dean bumped his shoulder into Sam's. "You know Dad, has to be sure."

"Yeah, okay." Sam started messing with the bark securing his wrist. "Hey, Dean?"

Dean turned to look directly at Sam and was surprised by the slight smile. Even with a pounding headache and after everything they'd just been through, Sam looked oddly happy . . . like he'd just figured out the algorithm of some geeky mathematics formula.

"Do you remember that night Pastor Jim was drunk?"

_**FIN **_

**Now that I've gotten that out of my system, guess I'll go play in Hell some more.**


	4. Bonus Chapter 1

**Kay, so, this story really was complete, but someone who shall remain nameless, but starts with the letter **_**S**_** and ends with **_**ammygirl1963 batted her big dewy eyes and pleaded for more hurt/comfort time. So now ya'll know I totally cave with enough begging. Just ask my kids. **_

**Bonus Chapter 1**

Every step pierced Sam's head like a sledgehammer striking against his temples. His brother and father were getting farther ahead of him even though they both limped, Dean with a twisted ankle and Dad with a wound in his thigh where one of the Gremlins bit him. And they'd still insisted on practically carrying Sam out of the forest sandwiched between them until they draped his arms over their shoulders and the pain in his broken wrist and burning from the Gremlin bite on his other arm flared so hard he couldn't stop the grimace.

They'd had no choice, except to let him walk out on his own power. Now he wondered if that had been a good idea because his head throbbed every time he put his foot down, no matter how gingerly. His skull pulsated with bruising pain that hammered behind his eyes, making everything turn a sort of grayish color.

He stared down at his boots, the tongues flopping outward without any laces to hold them tight, and willed himself to take another shuffling step, knowing the explosion it would cause inside his head. His dad and Dean limped farther ahead, so focused on keeping themselves upright, they didn't yet notice Sam had fallen behind.

_Gotta suck it up_. The car couldn't be that much farther, right? Sam hobbled his weight forward—and all two-hundred tons of a runaway freight train crashed through the cavity of his brain. His legs buckled and his sight faded at the same moment a hairless creature scurried across his view, between him and his family. Pitching sideways, he blindly threw out his arms to stop his fall, crying out as he found a tree and the jolt on his broken wrist vibrated up his entire arm.

"Hey, hey." His dad was suddenly near, large warm palms pressing on his shoulders. "Stay down. Easy."

He was down? Sam's sight returned, making slow orbits around the ground mere inches from Sam's face as he knelt, curled over his arms. His skull rattled like the aftershocks of someone gone crazy with a giant gong.

"It's your head, right? How bad?" Dean's voice, getting right to the source of the matter.

"Just . . ." Sam winced. How the hell did just talking hurt this much? "Need a moment."

"Long as you need," John said, his hands steady on his shoulders. "Car's not that far." Sam could tell his dad wasn't talking to him. "I'm going to go ahead, get the kit. Wish these trees weren't so thick, I'd drive right back to you."

"Dad, I can go," Dean said.

"Don't want you having to make the trip three times on that ankle. My leg's better off walking the stiffness out anyway. Stay here with your brother."

"Kay."

"Sam." Dad's hands squeezed his shoulders. "You hang in there. I'll be back soon with something for your head." The palms slipped away and Sam heard footfalls moving away across soil.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean's hand replaced Dad's, sliding across the back of Sam's neck. "You wanna try and sit up or does keeping your head low help?"

Sam wasn't sure. "It just hurts when . . ." Sam sucked in a breath.

"Whenever you move. Been there, bro. Head wounds are bitches. That position doesn't look too comfortable. Let me know if you want to move and I can help."

"Wanna sit up."

"Okay. We'll take it slow."

Dean's palm slipped beneath Sam's forehead, pressing warm and firm. Sam nearly wept at the slight ease of pressure it provided as though Dean somehow knew exactly where to hold his head. Dean's other arm slid across Sam's chest and together, very slowly, Dean letting Sam take the lead on how fast he wanted to move, they got Sam up into a sitting position, leaning back against Dean's chest.

Dean kept his palm firmly against Sam's forehead, an anchor against the angry mallet battering a nail between Sam's eyes.

"Dean?"

"I know it hurts. Don't speak if you don't have to."

Dean was right about that. Just swallowing hurt. But as he was falling, he thought he saw one of the little beasties. "Gremlin's are . . ."

"All gone, Sam. Don't worry about those anymore. Dad checked the cave-in."

"But what if one got out . . .?"

"Before the blast?" Dean paused. With his back pressed against Dean's chest, Sam felt the slight hitch in his brother's breathing. "I'm pretty sure nothing survived that detonation."

Kay, yeah, yeah. If Dean said they got them all, they got them all.

Sam stayed very still against Dean, listening to the chirps of the little gray birds that flew from branch to branch above them. The jackhammer pulsed beneath the steady pressure of Dean's palm on Sam's head, taking the edge off and Sam found that if he remained very still, the pounding died down to a bearable throb.

He let his eyes slip closed, must have fallen asleep, because he didn't hear any footsteps signaling his father's return, just an abrupt voice. "How is he?"

Sam jerked awake, wishing he hadn't at the sudden spike of pain and dizziness. Crouching in front of him, his father seemed to tilt sideways—or maybe it was him.

"Easy, son." Dad finally settled, no longer tilting, the lines of worry deepened beneath the ash and dirt streaking the strong features. "You okay?" Two sets of hands steadied him.

"His head's still hurting," Dean answered for him, which was just as well since Sam didn't think he could so much as move his lips without making his head implode, let alone form a coherent answer.

A calloused hand pushed his bangs back. "Son, I found some leftover hydrocodone. Just gonna slip them into your mouth. There that's good."

Sam felt like a friggin two-year-old, needing his dad to put the pills in his mouth and hold the water bottle to his lips. He'd be completely humiliated if his head didn't hurt so horribly with the slightest movement. He'd worry about being embarrassed later because right now he was just so grateful his dad and brother were here to take care of him. The only thing he could concentrate on was staying impossibly still to minimize the pain.

"That's it. Good. Just take it easy and rest for a while until these kick in." His dad's long fingers started rubbing Sam's head like he had last night. Having something else to focus on, Sam let his eyes close, sinking back against Dean, feeling more love for these two men than a sixteen-year-old knew what to do with. "We don't have anywhere special we need to be. Just let the medicine do its work." Their strong badass drill sergeant hunter of a father was practically cooing and it made all sorts of things swirl around inside Sam's chest.

"Here, Dean, I want you to take one as well." Dad's voice was back to normal.

"I'm good. Save them for Sammy," Dean answered.

"We have enough."

"But what if . . ." The conversation soared above him as Sam sank into sleep, warmed by his father's capable fingers massaging away the pain.

#

"Hey, there you are, Drooley."

Sam awakened with the side of his face on Dean's damp knee. Sam's hair was wet, dripping into his eyes. Must have been what woke him up. "Wha . . .?" His voice rasped. Great.

"Just cleaned out your wounds while you were out."

"Wounds?"

"Head, dumbtard. Ring any bells? Gremlins kicked your ass, batted your head around cave walls. Not once, but twice."

Sam didn't remember that at all. He remembered the Gremlins though and Pastor Jim being drunk and Dad came to the spelling bee, but Sam never knew it. "Didn't kick my ass." He hissed when Dean pressed something over his temple. Felt like gauze.

"Hold still, will ya?" Dean pushed Sam's hand away. "Gotta tape this down." The first-aid kit was right in front of Dean's crossed legs, open, with bloody wet gauze tossed to the side. Empty water bottles were also strewn about. They must have used them up just cleaning his wounds out.

"Any headaches?" Dad's voice came from the right, startling Sam. Tilting his face upward, he blinked at him, startled again by John's appearance, by the deep worry lines grooved within the contours of his ash-streaked face.

"Not really." Which wasn't the complete truth, but at least the jackhammer striking his brain had dulled down to the level of girly slaps.

A dark brow arched.

"It's not as bad," Sam admitted.

"Good," Dean said. "Then maybe we can finally get out of here. I am so dirty, it's starting to itch."

Sam immediately came up with a good insult for that, but he just didn't have the energy to sling it out, which was too bad he thought, because it would have helped Dean to not worry so much, because that's exactly what Dean was doing with his voice all serious again. "Gonna get you sitting up first, nice and slow. Let me know if it makes your head hurt."

"I'm not six, Dean." Felt like it though as both Dean and Dad pulled him gently up, careful of his broken wrist. Sam felt his face flaming, embarrassed at being the weakest link in the Winchester chain.

"Okay? Ready to stand?"John asked, all concern and Sam felt his forehead pull tight. Things must have gone really bad last night.

Sam nodded, not exactly knowing how to act around a worried dad. It wasn't something he had much experience with. "Yeah. I'm good."

Once again, Sam felt himself hauled up by strong hands supporting his torso and set on his feet where the trees suddenly floated around him and Sam stilled, locking his muscles tight around the sudden need to push everything up from his empty stomach.

"Lookin a little green around the gills, bro."

"I'm fine. Let's just go." Sam took a step, knowing the older Winchesters hovered around him, ready for if he should fall, which only made him more determined not to. He shifted forward, satisfied that he could do this since his head only pounded a little with each step. How pathetic he'd be if he couldn't even make it back to the car when both his Dad and Dean were limping.

Just one foot in front of the other, Sam told himself. Just get to the car. He felt like crap, nauseous and sweaty. He concentrated so hard on just staying upright, he didn't notice when he nearly walked into the Impala's front fender.

"Whoa, kiddo." John steered him around the car. The squeak of the back door sounded so welcoming, Sam thought he might cry. Dean had the door on the other side opened and a rolled blanket waiting to be used as a pillow before Sam slid onto the back seat.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem. Need anything else?"

"No. Just wanna get to the hotel."

"Yeah, actually . . ." John wavered.

Sam knew what he was gonna say and stiffened. "No, Dad. I don't need to. I'm okay. Really."

"Head wounds aren't something to mess around with. Sam, your melon took a beating."

"But I'm fine now. And how we gonna explain how dirty we are?"

"Sam." John's tone changed to the one that never gave an inch. "You were unconscious for hours. I . . ." His jaw clenched. "You're still not steady on your feet. Your wrist needs a cast anyway. We're going."

"Fine." Sam knew it was a lost argument. "But you're both getting checked out too."

"Fine." John and Dean both shut the back doors at the same time. This was going to be a fun drive.

And as they climbed into the front and John turned the ignition and stepped on the gas, Sam glanced out the back window where a Gremlin scurried across the glass and up.

"Dad! There's a Gremlin on the roof!"

John slammed the breaks so hard, Sam rocked back against the seat and pain exploded in his head. Curling over, he pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, hearing doors open and Dean and John talking over the roof of the car.

"Anything?"

"Could've gone up into the branches. Not that far of a jump," Dean reasoned.

"If there was a Gremlin. I don't see how. Did you hear anything on the roof?"

"No."

"Sam?" His dad's voice was closer. He probably was leaning into the car. "Oh, hey, head again?"

Sam didn't dare nod, could barely take a breath without the pounding increasing.

"Dad?" Dean's voice was real quiet, like he didn't want Sam to hear. "Do you think he's seein things?"

"I don't know, Son." Dad spoke quietly too. "Let's get him the care he needs. Want to sit in the back?"

"Yes Sir."

Doors opened and closed again. Sam was jostled a bit as Dean slipped in beside him, easing an arm around Sam's shoulder and let him roll his hand-covered face against Dean's chest. Sam stayed there the entire ride, palms against his eyes, letting the extra pressure of Dean's body help take the barest brink of the pounding away. And as Dean and John spoke in hushed murmurs, Sam didn't try to make out what they said. All he could think about was that Gremlin. He had seen it, hadn't he? It seemed so real.

**TBC**


	5. Bonus Chapter 2

**Bonus Chapter 2**

John Winchester could face down ghouls, werewolves, banshees, countless things from the most imaginative nightmares without a blink of his eye, but seeing his bright inquisitive son so still and out of it scared him more than the worse things he had hunted. He glanced at his boys through the rearview mirror. "He asleep?"

"No," Dean answered tightly.

John's fingers squeaked around the steering wheel. Hospital was in the nextcounty over and John was already driving as carefully and slowly as possible, avoiding every damn pothole on this bumpy country road.

Last night had been horrifying. John's stomach turned queasy. He couldn't get the image of Sam disappearing in that hole out of his mind. He thought he'd lost him, right then and there. John peeked in the mirror again, grounding himself that Sam was here, safe with them, not gone, not lost and unreachable a thousand feet down. He wished he could see Sam's face, but his son had it pressed hard into Dean's side. The square of gauze on the back of his head was already coming loose, impossible to tape down to that soft tangle of hair, but it didn't appear as though any more blood had seeped through.

That was something, though . . . John breathed out a steadying stream of breath. Something wasn't right. Sam needed more help than he could give him.

"Dad. Look." Dean brought him out of his worried thoughts. "A Vet."

Sure enough, up ahead there was a sign for Blue Ridge Veterinary Clinic with a broad arrow, pointing to a turn-off where a sliver of a dirt road wound its way to what looked more like a ranch spread than a clinic out by itself on a lonely country road.

John immediately took the car onto the turn-off. He was well acquainted with smaller clinics, preferring less people, and on occasion less paperwork to deal with—cash under the table so to speak.

John pulled up close to the door, noting there weren't any other cars out front even though it was late afternoon, just an old green pick-up parked out by the barn. Was the clinic closed? Open sign said otherwise.

"Wait here while I check it out," he told the boys before striding across the gravel.

Inside, the cheery little clinic appeared empty. No customers in the plastic chairs of the waiting room, even though the doors were unlocked and the place was clearly open for business. John pushed past the saloon-style swinging shutter doors and into the procedure room, startling a raccoon inside one of the small cages lining the wall. It hissed, slipping a cast-enclosed leg through the thin bars. It was the only animal in the place. John also noted the array of medicines stacked on shelves and behind the glass insert doors of wooden cabinets, unattended and easy for the taking. Except John wasn't here for supplies.

"Hello?" he called out. "Anyone about?"

Huh. Fists on hips, John waited for someone to come out of one of the doors on either side of the procedure room. This was certainly no way to run a business. Frustration mounting, John took the door to his right and walked into a kitchen of all things with the back door wide open, letting a warm breeze come in through the screen.

Okay, barn then. John marched across the dirt yard toward the large building out back. If he didn't find anyone in there to help him, he was going to come back, scoop as much medicine and supplies as he could carry and get his boys to the hospital the next county over.

"Anyone here? Oh." Stepping into the barn, John winced. Now that was a sight you didn't come across every day. A wiry geezer stood a few feet away with his left arm elbow deep in the rectum of a cow.

"Like I thought. Pregnant," the guy announced. "Hand me that towel, will you?"

"Oh. Um, sure." John grabbed one of the linens folded neatly on top of a stainless steel table and held it out to the vet who smoothly removed his arm and pulled the nastily long sterile glove from his hand. Studiously, John set his gaze on the cow who except for a little widening of the round eye seemed to have taken the invasion in stride.

When the guy grabbed the towel, John instinctively stepped back, even though he was far more filthy coated in ash and dirt than the vet, but John hadn't stuck his arm up any of the Gremlins' asses either. "I need your help."

"What I'm here for." The old guy wiped his hands unhurriedly, looking John up and down. "Not from around here. You don't look like a rancher. Farmer neither. You a fairweather hunter?"

John jolted.

"You shot one of my neighbors stock, right? Now you want me to fix it?"

Pushing a hand back through his hair, John relaxed, realizing he was talking about a different kind of hunting. "No, it's not an animal. My son—"

"Your son's been shot?" That got the man moving through the door. "Why'd you bring him here? Needs a hospital."

John hustled after him across the yard. "Not shot. He's banged his head pretty bad. Look. I just panicked, saw your sign . . ."

The vet threw him a look over his shoulder, measuring as though he didn't for one minute take John as the panicking type. "I can at least take a look. Bring him into the clinic while I clean up."

"Thank you," John said, running around to the front of the clinic as the vet dashed inside the back door.

"Dean." John pulled the Impala's rear door open as quietly as the old metal would allow, having enough head wounds to know every little squeak became magnified . Two sets of eyes lifted toward him.

"You were gone a long time." Sam's creased features expressed his worry.

The block of ice that had wedged inside John's chest since the moment he saw the teen fall, thawed just a little bit. "I know. Took a while to find someone on the property. You look better." At least Sam wasn't pressed as hard as he could get against Dean anymore. Color wasn't any better though. "Headache ease up?"

Sam's eyes slid to the left, sure sign he didn't want to answer, which was answer enough. "A little," Sam whispered.

John's frown matched Dean's. "Come on, let's get you inside."

"But, Dad . . ."

"Sam," Dean took over. "We already talked about this. It's here or the hospital."

Sam's hair lifted as he blew out a huffy breath and John smothered a grin.

"Alright, then." That settled, John helped Sam scoot across the seat toward him, where from both sides, he and Dean got Sammy on his feet where his son's features suddenly tensed .

"You good, Sam?" Dean's facial expression seemed just as strained.

Sam nodded crisply, though it was more than apparent just standing had made his headache flare again. This couldn't go on. John wouldn't let it.

"Sam. It's not that far. We're going to carry you."

"Dad, I don't—"

"Wasn't a suggestion."

John nodded to Dean and they both slipped an arm beneath Sam's knees and carried him between them like a chair. John didn't like the whimper Sam tried to muffle at the slight jostle when they had to pause to get the door open. In moments, they had Sam laid out on the short stainless steel examining table, looking up at the wiry veterinarian with tufty white hair leaning over him while the raccoon hissed and spit up a racket.

"So what do we have?" Without waiting for an answer, the doctor pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and slipped them on before turning Sam's head to the side to examine the raised cut on the boy's temple.

"Dean." John inclined his head toward the noisy animal and Dean immediately picked up the cage and carried the raccoon into the other room, closing the door on it after he deposited it. They could still hear the ruckus, though muted.

"Now's generally the time I ask what happened." The guy looked at John over the rim of his glasses. His fingers felt along the wound at the back of Sam's head. Sam's lips were clenched, tears pooling in his eyes, but he kept still for the examination.

John nodded. "We were hunting. My son . . . fell."

"Did he lose consciousness at any time?"

Dean's head snapped toward him.

"Yes," John supplied. _For too long_. "He was out several hours."

"Hours?" The doc stiffened, though he quickly recovered.

"But he woke up last night, was coherent and talking." John rambled, wanting so badly for the doctor to reassure him that meant something good. He'd thought the worst was over, but this morning, Sam had been hurting and out of it.

"He's had a constant headache." Dean took Sam's wrist and Sam frowned up at him, most likely piecing together for himself just how bad off he'd been and what a scare he'd given his family.

The vet looked from one Winchester to another and sighed. "Head traumas are funny things. Severe and lingering headaches aren't necessarily an indication that something is wrong. Boy's bell was rung hard and headaches are sometimes the body's best defense, a way of righting itself, simple as that. I'm going to run some X-rays to make sure."

"You're equipped for that?"

The doctor gave Dean a bland look. "Animals break bones too, son. I've got to warn you though, if the X-ray shows swelling or skull fractures, I can't help you here. You're going to need a hospital. Deal."

John's worry amped up. Now that the doc had taken charge, he was feeling helpless and the adrenaline he'd been running on was leveling off. "Deal."

"Roll that cart over here, would you?" The veterinarian indicated a portable state-of-the-art X-ray machine. "Finished with Sam's head, the guy tapped the bark and shoe laces tied around Sam's wrist. "We'll X-ray this too. What's under here?" He began pulling the tape and gauze from Sam's other arm, scraggly brows lifting at the deep bite marks beneath. His gaze lifted accusingly to John.

Rolling the X-ray machine's cart next to Sam, John quickly covered. "Wolf got at him."

"After he fell." The vet straightened to his full height. "See those diplomas decorating my wall? Those kinda state that I've been at this long enough to know a wolf bite when I see one. This was made by one of those hairless critters been after our livestock."

"You know about those?" Dean's brows collided over perplexed green eyes. "They haven't just taken cattle and sheep. They've gone after people, you know. Why didn't you warn anybody?"

"Who says I didn't? I went to the town council, got laughed out on my ass for my trouble. Even killed one of the things, but the little beast wouldn't go down with rifle-shot alone, took burning it and when I dragged its corpse into town for proof, wasn't enough left. Folks believe what they want to believe anyhows. I became the laughing stock of the county and you see what that did to my business." He ran an agitated hand through his hair, making the tufts stand up more. "Dammit, if you tangled with one of these things, you've brought them right back to my place."

"We didn't bring any here."

The doctor raced into the kitchen to lock the back door. "Once they have your scent, they'll stick to you like glue."

"Relax." John watched the guy hurry to shut the front door. "We got them all."

The vet slid to a stop. "There is no getting them all. I don't know where they came from or how long they've been here, but beginning of last month there was an explosion of the beasts. Hundreds by my estimation of what I've seen done to all the farms' stock around here."

"I'm telling you we got them."

The guy's gaze swept over the Winchesters' dirty appearances. All three of them were coated in ash. "Want to explain to me how three guys managed that?"

"Tracked them to their cave. Set explosives. Done deal." Dean folded his arms across his chest. "It's what we do."

Doc seemed to mull that over. "If that's true, then this county owes you some immense gratitude. You're sure you got them all?"

"Absolutely," Dean said.

"Relatively." John's answer was a little more practical. "Planning on staying a few days to be sure."

The vet nodded, walked back over to Sam who had his fingers pressed tight to his forehead, pushing the skin above his nose into wrinkles. _Aw, Sammy_. It hurt to see his youngest in this level of pain. Sam's chest was rising and falling in quick staccato pants. John slipped his palm over Sam's fingers.

"Can you give him anything?" Dean asked, voice quiet.

"That's what I'm trying to determine." The doctor glanced at Dean and his features softened. "Look. We'll take the X-rays, get a look at what we're dealing with. Then I'll know what's safe." He pushed the cord into the outlet and the machine started purring while the doctor punched several buttons and positioned the long arm over Sam's face. "Name's Ellis Walker. Most folks call me Doc Wal."

John nodded. "John Winchester. My sons, Dean and Sam."

"Hey," Dean mumbled, gaze fixed on the small computer screen built into the X-ray machine that was showing black and white images. Instant X-rays. That make things less complicated.

"Sam," Doc Wal's tone was the most gentle John had heard him. "I'm going to just turn your head, yeah, that's good. Now hold it right here while I take a look. I know it hurts, but you're doing good."

John stared at the screen for another twenty minutes while the vet repositioned Sam to make sure he got every angle. John couldn't make heads or tails out of what he was looking at, just waited silently, tension rising, so the doc could do his job. When he swung the camera's arm out of the way, both he and Dean leaned forward, practically in the man's face.

Doc Wal eased a step back. "Good news: Your son should be fine. No factures in the skull, no extra fluid or swelling. The headaches should taper off in a few days."

Every muscle in John's body seemed to go slack, the relief came so powerfully. He quickly locked his knees to stay standing.

"If the headaches persist ," Doc was still talking. "Get him to a hospital or clinic—for people." Walker's brows pulled together. " I did find one hairline fracture you should be aware of, but coming at it from a different angle shows signs of calcium growth indicating an old break." Yeah, kid had plenty of those.

John suddenly grabbed Walker's hand, grasped it in both of his own and began shaking it in earnest. "Thank you, Doc. I can't tell you."

Somewhat taken aback, the vet nodded. "Yeah. My pleasure, especially If what you say about getting rid of those critters is true." He patted John's arms and turned away to get something from the cabinet. He came back with a generic bottle of pills. "This will help the headaches, probably put him out for a short time as well."

"But that's for animals," Dean argued.

"Son," Doc looked at him over his bifocals. "This ain't the big city. We don't have need of fancy wrapped and labeled medication. Folks out here learned a long time ago that the medications used for their livestock had the same ingredients as people medications, but at half the cost." He tapped his head. "Just got to make sure you get the dose right. Don't want to give the same amount to young'un here as I'd give to McDonald's cow out back."

"You have Old McDonald's cow?"

John suppressed a grin and lightly cuffed the back of Dean's head instead. Even in the grisliest of situations Dean managed to maintain a lightness and frivolity. Kid had no idea how much John relied on that to keep his own natural intensity over the bleak realities of the job from throwing him over the edge.

After Sam took his pills, they helped him move to a couch in the living quarters. Doc handed John a coarse bar of soap. "I want you and your older boy to shower up with this."

John looked at the soap.

"Made it myself. Those beasts can't stand the stuff."

"Gremlins." Dean pulled a blanket up to Sam's streaked face. Kid's eyes had closed the moment his head hit the cushions.

Doc's brows rose. "Gremlins? Really?"

Dean nodded, not looking away from Sam.

Doc folded his glasses and put them back into his pocket. "Well, Gremlins then. Fact is, this soap keeps the Gremlins away."

"This covers our scent?" John sniffed the bar and got a whiff of lemon and something he couldn't place. Didn't smell pretty. He'd get the ingredients before they left.

"Doesn't cover. Critters can still track you, but they won't eat you. Been keeping the farmers and ranchers on the outskirts supplied with it. Even made a powder to dip their livestock in."

"Your neighbors believed you?"

"Knew it wasn't foxes in the hen house. Only they were smart enough to keep their traps shut about it in town. One of 'em's a school teacher and I got her to sneak the powder into the school's soap dispensers. At least keep the kids in town safe."

"Dad," Dean said. "That's why the Gremlins started snatching people from town. Their food supply on the farms got ruined."

John had been thinking the same thing. "Dean, get our duffles from the trunk and then I want you in the shower first."

"But, Sam . . ."

"Is sleeping. Once the medicine has kicked in and he's not hurting so bad, we'll clean him up."

"After you do that, I'll see about getting that wrist casted." The doc's gaze moved down Dean's leg. "And your ankle."

"Only a sprain," Dean insisted.

"Well, I'll have a look at it after you've showered."

"But . . ."

"Dean." John cut off any further argument and Dean clicked his mouth shut, leaving to grab their clean clothes. Watching him go, John shook his head. That was his oldest, always putting Sam first.

"I need to secure the barn," Doctor Walker said. "There's coffee in the kitchen and the fixings for sandwiches. Industrial size washer and dryer in the laundry room. Welcome to make use of it."

"Sure thing, Doc." But John didn't move away from his sleeping son. Coffee could wait until Dean was out of the shower.

#

The coarse soap rubbed John's skin raw. It felt good to be clean again though, even with the soap's fragrance of something that had been pulled from a musty closest. Putting his handgun in the back of his jeans, he came out of the steamy bathroom to find Dean had pulled a chair up next to Sam. Apparently Dean didn't want to go even as far as the kitchen to leave Sam alone either.

Warmth pooled in his chest. _God_, he loved these boys. "Kitchen's supplied with caffeine and sandwich trimmings."

Dean stared at Sam for a while longer, but his stomach must have ruled him out, because he stood up. "Do you want one?"

"That'd be great, Son."

Sam's eyes slid open. "Do you think . . . you could make me one too?"

Dean's entire countenance lit up. "Sure. You feelin okay now?"

Sam nodded and John noticed his son's movements were no longer stifled from pain.

"You sure?" Dean placed his hand on Sam's head.

Grinning, Sam rolled his eyes. "How come no one ever believes me when I say I'm fine?" He yawned.

"Because none of us admit to how bad we hurt." John took Dean's seat and ruffled Sam's hair. "You're really okay?"

"Mmm-hmm." Sam yawned again. "Headache's barely there. I'm just tired."

"That's the pills working. We'll get you fed, then how does a nice shower sound?"

One eye drooped into a squint. "Gonna let me take one on my own?"

John chuckled. "Not a chance."

Sam huffed out an annoyed breath and sank down farther on the couch before closing his eyes.

John stared at him, grateful beyond reason that it looked like Sam was going to be okay. They'd dodged a bullet on this one, the hunt escalating from bad to worse.

John cocked his head, studying Sam, putting this quiet moment to memory.

"You know, you favor my uncle," John said. He wasn't sure why. It just came out. "My father's younger brother."John idolized him, followed him everywhere.

Sam's eyes stole open, looking at John beneath heavy lids.

"Name was Cal. Had your coloring, jaw. Your scrawny build too."

Sam smiled.

"He was real tall."

"Taller than you?"

"Taller than everyone around him."

Sam's face smoothed, thinking that over. "Maybe I'll get taller than you."

"Maybe." Definitely. Teen was already tall for his age and still growing.

Sam yawned for the third time. "How come we never got to meet him?"

"He passed on when I was around your age." Cal enlisted as a young skinny kid and came back filled out, packing muscle, almost unrecognizable. Funny how life turns out sometimes. Cal left the jungles and swamps of Cambodia in one piece only to step in front of a bullet not twenty minutes from his home. Convenience store robbery gone wrong. He'd saved a young mother. Guess it was the Winchester way, risking their lives to spare others. "Would've made one fine hunter."

"Sorry, Dad."

John's brows rose.

"That I never . . ." Sam's fourth yawn was so huge it surprised John that he didn't hear bones cracking." . . . never got to meet Uncle Cal." Dark lashes swallowed hazel eyes, and the tender part of John's heart peeled opened, vulnerable and exposed.

John squeezed Sam's arm. "Yeah, I'm sorry too, kiddo. Rest easy. I'll give Dean a hand with those sandwiches." Grab a coffee too. Forgoing sleep last night was catching up to him.

John entered the kitchen and his stomach growled at the sight. "Planning on keepin those to yourself?"

"Was thinking about it." Dean had a spread of the largest sandwiches John had ever seen. Rural living had its benefits. Doc Wal's neighbors must have traded produce for soap because the thick homemade bread slices housed thick slabs of roast, meaty tomatoes and crispy lettuce. God love a farming community.

Dean grabbed a plate to take into Sammy when the crack of a rifle-shot disturbed the quiet country air. John and Dean both drew their handguns and rushed outside as another shot rang out. Doc Wal stood near the barn, shooting up at its roof where at least fifteen Gremlins scurried across the slats. "Thought you said you got 'em all!"

John thought so too. "Must have found another way out!" Dammit. A Gremlin flung itself off the roof, limbs outspread like a flying freakin squirrel. He shot it point-blank, but the nasty just tucked and rolled and scurried into the barn.

Walker ran after it, shouting, "Cover me! Gotta get the horses out!"

Dean kept firing at the beasts climbing down the roof. More were coming from around the side of the barn. Must have made their way through the large pasture, stretching for miles behind the large structure. John rushed to the door, trying to cover both Dean and the Doc from the threshold. Walker swung the large eight-foot wide door open and then went about pulling the two frightened and balking horses toward it.

"What about the cow?" John yelled.

"Leave the cow!" Doc slapped one of the hinds and the horse bucked and lurched out the door, spurring the second horse to follow, galloping away across the pasture. Several Gremlins sped off after them. "Cow's been dipped! Gremlins won't touch her."

A brutal realization swamped John to his core, stilling his pulse. _Oh my God_.

"Dad!" Dean screamed out, his voice almost lost between the shriek of bullets. John whipped around. Kid had his second handgun out. He was surrounded by Gremlins—at least thirty now—barking and spitting, but not approaching Dean even as he shot into their nearly impenetrable hides. Soap was working, they weren't going after Dean, except . . . hairless rubbery heads lifted in the air, nostrils widening, tongues out as they licked the scents upon the breeze, and as one, the beasts squealed and surged toward the clinic . "Dad!" Dean screamed again, features brimmed with a horror John never wanted to see on either of his sons again. "Sam never used the soap!"

**TBC**


	6. Bonus Chapter 3

**Bonus Chapter 3**

John raced into the clinic after Dean, following the swarm of Gremlins that had honed in on Sam's scent. _Sam was asleep. Sam was unarmed. Sam was vulnerable_. The nasty little beasties would rip his son to pieces in minutes.

Gun fire blazed ahead. Shouts and thudding. Little monster shrieks. John skidded into Doc Wal's personal quarters, his own gun instantly firing. Gremlins were everywhere, Dean shooting point-blank into them, but having little effect. There were beasts shredding the couch. No Sammy. Gremlins on the dressers and TV cabinet. Gremlins climbed up the ceiling, pouring into a square hole—attic access—coffee table below. Sam must have pulled himself up inside there. _Good boy_. John nearly bent in two with the relief, except his boy was in the attic now with however many of the monsters got up in there. Bangs and crashes thudded above them.

"I'm out!" Dean's gun clicked. The kid disappeared through one of the doors.

John kept firing, knowing his clip didn't have much more either. He leaped onto the coffee table, concentrating on the Gremlins closest to getting into the attic, and shot a hairless monkey right in the eye. It thumped to the floor. Hard to kill his ass. There was more than one way of getting past an impenetrable skull.

The Gremlins went crazy. Soap or no soap, they rushed John, bearing him down and dragging him across the room. For such little guys, these beasts were strong. Suddenly Dean was back, flinging a bucket of white powder over them all.

Little nasties howled, jerking away and jumping around like they'd been burned, shaking and slapping at their heads. Dean flung out more powder and the Gremlins scattered, yowling and crashing through every door, through windows, a few into the attic to get away from the soap.

Dean reached down, assisted John up. "You bit?"

"No." John rubbed soap powder from his eyelashes. "Good thinking." The thuds overhead had moved to another part of the clinic. John rushed outside, backing up enough to see the roof. Doc Wal ran up to him from the barn, a couple of rifles in his grip. "Is there a rooftop access to your attic?"

The Doc's scraggly brows rose. "They're in my attic?"

Several of the Gremlins that had scattered outside were now climbing up the side of the clinic. "Dean! Get that soap out here!" John grabbed one of Doc's rifles and began shooting, even as he moved closer, trying for more eyeball shots, even as he wondered why Dean hadn't shown yet.

Doc ran toward the other end of the building. "Attic window on this side!"

John swiveled and sure enough, there was Sam, pulling himself onto the peak of the roof from the window John couldn't see on the other side. He watched, heart lodged in his throat, as Sam ran across the roof, a slew of Gremlins galloping after him, more coming from the other end. _Come on, Son_. If Sam could make it down to the edge, it wasn't that far of a drop. John cringed as Sam slipped, his socks providing no traction, and quickly recovered his balance. "Sam!" _Come on, come on_. John just wanted his son down off that roof, where he'd shove him behind him and douse him in that soap powder.

Sighting a beast several paces behind Sam, John pulled the trigger. He didn't dare shoot any closer to his kid. Beast paused, hissed, and leaped ahead. Realizing he was caught behind two groups of nasties, Sam started angling downward, socks slipping on the tiles.

"I'm right here, Sam. I'll cover you!" John ran toward the middle of the building to meet him. _He was going to make it. Sam was going to make it. Just get to the edge and jump._ Gremlins launched at Sam, pulling his legs out from under him. He went down hard, sliding headfirst down the roof on his back.

_Shit!_ John dropped his gun and raced forward as though he'd be able to catch the teen, at least break his fall. Sam fell headfirst over the edge and jerked to a stop, dangling upside down. Several Gremlins had hold of his legs.

"Dad!" Sam's tone sounded very young and striped with fear. Long arms stretched out for John like they had when Sam was small and wanted to be picked up.

"Got you!" In easy reach, John latched onto Sam, hand's looping beneath his armpits. "I got you," John gritted out, heaving against the strength of the Gremlins, feeling his son being pulled upward. Where the hell was Dean?

Doc Wal joined in the tug-of-war, grabbing onto Sam, but their combined effort wasn't a match for the supersized strength of one Gremlin, let alone several. John roared. He was not giving up.

Sam screamed. John's gaze wrenched up to the roof where a Gremlin lifted its head from Sam's ankle, razor teeth dripping red. Growling with rage, John pulled harder.

"Dad . . ." Sam clung to him, fingers digging into John's forearms, his voice vibrating with fear and tears. "Don't let go of me."

"Not letting go. Never letting go."

But Doc Wal did.

Gnarled fingers flew to Sam's belt, scrabbling to get it loose, popped open the button beneath and grabbed onto the kid again. With one giant heave, they pulled Sam right out of his jeans and thumped to the ground in a snarl of arms and legs.

John didn't have time to make sure Sam was okay because the Gremlins dropped around them even as John dove on top of his son, shielding him with his own body as the beasts clawed at his back, trying to peel him off.

"Stay down!" Dean's growl. John covered Sam's face as a spout of flame roared above them, then moved away in another direction. A cacophony of shrieks rattled the air. "Go! Go!" Dean shouted.

John looked up, seeing Gremlins turn into fire balls as Dean poured bursts of fire into them with little more than spraying some kind of aerosol can flamed by his lighter. He had several more cans balanced beneath his armpit for extra ammo. Doc jumped up, scooping up the rifle and firing.

Dean yelled over his shoulder. "Get him out of here!"

John hauled Sam off the ground. Soap. Kid needed that soap. The way to the clinic was blocked by angry, swarming Gremlins and spinning fiery husks, leaving smatterings of fire all over the ground. The Gremlins that got past Dean and the doctor were edging toward him and Sam.

John nudged Sam toward the barn, threw his arm around his waist when the kid nearly went down on the first step, and drew him close, helping Sam hobble across the gravel and into the barn.

"Dad."

"I see them. Keep going." Gremlins scurried upside down across the top of the ceiling, stilling and sniffing the air. He had to get Sam out of here. John prodded Sam forward, moving quietly with him toward the other end of the barn, toward the large open door leading out.

The pregnant cow watched them go past, round eyes wary. John didn't know how a cow's thought processes worked, but had the unmistakable feeling this cow was thinking an equivalent to _holy effen shit. _

They made it to the door without any of the Gremlins dropping down. Outside, John surveyed their options. A dry grassy field beyond, stretching for miles. And another older, much smaller barn, most likely the original by looks of the weathered wood.

"This way." They could barricade themselves in there until Dean could get the soap to them. John pulled Sam with him and was hit from behind, shoved to his hands and knees, dragging Sam down with him. Damn stupid ape-monster stomped across his back and grabbed up Sam, pulling the kid away from him.

#

Dean raced through the large barn just in time to see his dad knocked flat and the same Gremlin drag Sammy into the grass when two or three more of the little beasts latched onto him. They yanked on his brother, fighting over him like dogs over scrap meat. They were going to tear Sammy apart and Dean was still too far away to pour flame over them.

"No!" He raced across the ground, the long-legged vet close on his heels, his own lighter and aerosol in hand.

But John was faster. Dean had never seen his dad fight like that. Their father flung Gremlins off Sam like he possessed the same superhuman strength they had. John was all fists and elbows and kicking boots, though he couldn't keep the Gremlins off long, or keep them from leaping back at Sam. John finally dug enough of an opening and hauled Sam up, where they ran, half-stumbling into another small barn, slamming the old door behind them.

By that time, Dean was in range and poured aerosol-born gouts across the Gremlins. Doc's stream of fire joined his. The monsters shrieked and burned, exploding into flame, skidding and spinning across the field. Dean briefly wondered if they might cause a wilderness fire, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care. He sprayed fire over the beasts, unrelenting, herding them away from that barn . . . until spazing out, overlong arms flapping, one of the creatures broke away and ran spinning into the barn door, bursting through, trailing fire that caught instantly on the old wood.

No problem. They could put that out. Dean was about to shout a warning to his dad when a loud concussion of air ripped through him, smacking him to the ground. A large eruption of fire plumed up, breaking through the roof and tearing the walls apart like a land mine going off. A wave of smoke rolled outward like a giant smoke ring and all went quiet.

Dean stared from the ground, frozen, his heart seizing painfully as smoke rolled over him. The barn was destroyed, completely gone, just demolished heaps of blackened smoldering and burning boards.

Dean couldn't move, he couldn't move. His family, his entire world was in there.

TBC


	7. Bonus Chapter 4

**Bonus Chapter 4 **

Dean couldn't move. His entire body seemed to have shut down. Dad and Sam were gone. They couldn't have survived that blast.

The last of the Gremlins were hightailing it across the field, frightened off by the explosion.

"On your feet! Help me!" Doc Wal pulled on Dean's arm, hauling him up. The young man went with him compliantly, staggering across the ground. He didn't want to go, was so afraid to see the charred remains, but he had to, had to see for himself and he didn't have any fight left in him to even resist an old country veterinarian anyway.

At the smoldering ruin that moments ago was a barn, Doc Wal lifted a blackened smoking board off a pile of boards and broken walls, but flinched back. "Ow, ow!" Pulling his sleeves down like gloves, the doc tackled the board again and threw it aside. "Gonna help me?"

Something snapped in Dean, primal and possessive. Damn stupid Gremlins weren't taking away what was his. Dean attacked the wreckage with a vengeance, tossing boards aside. If there was any chance . . . Dean held onto that hope, strangled it into a chokehold and braced it steady. He had to believe, had to keep digging even as his brain hammered that it wasn't possible. No one could live through that and all he'd find were their corpses.

"What . . .?" Dean wrenched a sheared beam out, making the entire pile groan and shift. "How did this happen?"

Doc Wal rolled another large beam away from a taller pile of boards. It thumped to the ground, kicking up a cloud of ash. "Kept fertilizer back here." He shook a piece of burning wood off his sleeve, patting it out. "Ammonium nitrate?"

_Shit_. Same kind of fertilizer wannabe unibombers packed homemade explosives with. Grossly unstable. Just one little spark . . . What was left of Dean's shredded heart dropped straight to his toes.

The next beam Doc rolled off clanked against metal. "Kid. Here."

Dean raced over, pulse pounding. "What? What do ya got?"

"Water trough."

Dean's gaze flew to the pile the vet had been uncovering. Just as he said, underneath the boards was a large upsidedown iron tub—the kind farmers used to fill water for their livestock. It came as high as Dean's waist and was plenty enough wide to fit two men. Dean quickly shoved off the remaining boards and banged on the metal.

They both paused, waiting for an answering tap that never came. Enough waiting, Dean pushed on the trough, ignoring the heat burning through the fabric of his sleeves. Doc pushed beside him, but they couldn't budge it. The solid metal was too heavy.

Dean's hopes sank. "How could my dad lift that?"

"Didn't have to." Doc kicked through the wreckage, looking for something. "Trough was already upside down and I had one side propped up by a concrete block to keep it aired out. All John would've had to do was roll under and kick the block out. It's what I would have done. Here. Help me wrangle this in there."

Doc brought one of the beams over and together, inch by inch, they managed to get the flat end beneath the lip of the trough. Pushing down on the other end, they slowly began to lever one side of the heavy tub off the ground.

"I got this," Dean groaned, muscles bunching. "Wedge something under it."

He felt the beam push back up when the vet let go, but Dean bore down, holding it steady, hearing the doc move things around.

"All right. Got it."

Cautiously, loosening his grip, Dean breathed easy when the pressure on the beam eased and the trough didn't fall. He dropped to his knees, not caring about the hot cinders catching on his jeans. Two other ends of beams propped the tub up. Doc Wal's head nearly touched the ground as he bent over knobby knees, trying to see inside.

Dean got his head right up next to the vet's and sucked in a breath. Dad's boots and Sam's filthy socks. He could see them. They were both whole, not blown to bits. He reached in, grabbed Sam's bare calf, needing something real to ground him. Relief speared through his core, so sudden and powerful Dean felt himself slipping, nearly swayed against the tub. He curled his fingers around Sam's leg and steeled himself. Had to hold it together. Had to get them out.

"Sam! Dad!" He shook Sam's leg. No response.

"Dammit." Dean wriggled underneath, shifting Sam's knees up to make room in the cramped space. It was stifling inside, like a sauna. There was barely enough light to see, but what Dean could make out froze the blood in his veins. His brother and father were both on their sides, John spooning Sam with his arms across the kid, holding Sam's hands to his chest as though his dad had pulled Sam's hands in to keep them from getting crushed under the falling edge of the trough. Droplets of sweat pebbled their skin, soaked their shirts. They looked peaceful, like they were merely sleeping, the close resemblance startling—smooth dark brows, black lashes, hard defiant jaws relaxed and still.

Horrifyingly still.

Dean placed his palms over both their chests, waiting for the lift he knew wasn't coming. "They're not breathing!"

"Pass them out to me." Doc's hands reached inside.

Sam was closest so Dean dragged the kid's upper body to the tub's edge, helping the vet scoot Sam beneath the lip until his sibling's boxers, then legs and feet disappeared. Without waiting for Doc Wal to come back, Dean began rolling and wrangling his dad out the same way. By the time he had him out the doctor was back and they carried him out of the wreckage together, laying him down in the flattened grass next to Sam.

"They're not breathing!" Dean cried, kneeling next to Sam. _Oh God_, how long had they gone without air? How long had it taken them to find them?

"I'd expect as much." Doc was checking John's wrist for a pulse. "Explosion like that burns hot, but flashes out quick. Would have sucked up all the oxygen."

He was saying they suffocated. Dean started shaking, his shoulders slumping over Sammy. Doc Wal grabbed his arms, shook him as hard as a slap. "CPR now!"

He didn't even ask if Dean knew how, just assumed he did. And thank God that was something their dad had taught them both. Without questioning, Dean positioned Sam and pressed his mouth over the kid's, knowing the vet was doing the same for his dad.

They worked in tandem, neither speaking between breaths, neither giving up. All the while Dean's brain screamed an increasing litany: _breathe breathe breathe BREATHE!_

Sam's arm suddenly flopped. Dean jerked back. Sam's chest rose. Stilled. Dean waited. Sam's chest rose again. Stunned, Dean stared, not grasping the significance, still steeped in the urge to breathe for his brother.

He leaned close, whispered, "Sammy?"

Dark lashes swept up, revealing pearly eyes. Now Dean couldn't breathe.

Sam's lips twitched. He hiccupped a small cough.

Dean froze. That was it? No hacking or gagging? "S-s-sam?" He didn't mean to stutter, also didn't mean for tears to start running down his face, but he'd thought Sam was dead, that he'd never see his eyes open again, and now he was okay, coughing out the prissiest little hiccup Dean had ever heard after suffocating. His brother had freakin suffocated! _He was okay he was okay oh God_. Without realizing he was doing it, Dean scooped Sam up into a crushing hug, burying his face in the kid's gritty hair, losing all his composure when he felt long fingers curl into the fabric of the back of his T-shirt, then still.

"Dean?" Sam's muffled voice carried up from beneath Dean's chin. "Where's Dad?" And Dean's world crashed around him again. He felt Sam's head turn away from his chest, felt the kid flinch as he saw their father stretched out, the veterinarian performing rescue breathing.

"Dad?" Sam leaned forward, but Dean held him back.

"Let him work, Sammy."

Sam's breathing that Dean had worked so hard to just get going was now ramping up, pulling shallowly. Dean's was right there with him.

Doc Wal lifted his head, sorrow-filled eyes latching onto the Winchesters. "I'm sorry, boys."

"What?" Sam lurched forward. "What? No! Dad!"

Dean sank back, shaking his head_. No, no. Nononono_. This wasn't happening. Not to their dad. Their dad was invincible.

Sam scrambled on his knees to get near the top of John's head, his fingers searching for a pulse, moving their father's head back and forth. "Come on, Dad, wake up. Wake up!" Tears dripped down his young face, shattering Dean's heart.

And John gasped, his body arching upward, muscles coiled just before he sagged and started hacking. Doc rolled him on his side toward Dean where Dean grasped his shoulder, tried to steady him while the veins in John's neck bulged with the effort. As soon as he sucked in enough air, John let it out in a strangled scream. "Sammmmy!"

"It's okay, Dad. Just breathe. Relax. Okay?"

John's eyes flicked up to Dean, filled with instant relief. "Dean. You're okay?"

"Yeah, Dad."

His gaze started tracking around. "Where's Sam? Your brother . . . oh God, Dean. . ."

Dean squeezed John's shoulder. "He's right here. He's okay."

"Dad?" Sam's voice was soft, scared.

John's head wrenched up. "Sammy? Oh thank God." With uncharacteristic emotion, John shot up and hauled both his kids to him. "Thank God."

Crushed against John's shoulder, his side quashed into Sam's and not in any hurry to wriggle away, Dean met Doc Wal's gaze. The vet tipped his head in an understanding nod. They still had work to do.

#

Two days later, the Winchesters stood side by side at the spine of the slope above where they'd first tracked the Gremlins to the cave. They'd found another entrance where the colony escaped from after the blast. All they had to do was wait for the Gremlins to come out to _forage_.

The Winchesters stood ready to finish the job.

This time they weren't standing alone.

Doc Wal put the word out and every farmer and rancher that lived on the outskirts of town came.

Dean held the crossbow, giddy to start the show and shoot flaming arrows into the little suckers. He'd teach them never to mess with his family. 'Course they wouldn't be alive to actually learn the lesson, but that was a moot point, he decided.

He glanced at Sam. He and John both tried to talk the teen into staying out of this one because it was going to be loud, but Sam had been adamant in seeing this through. Stubborn ass. Even though Sam's headaches had already lessened, Dean still spied his sibling grimacing now and again. He'd made certain he had the doc's pills in the Impala for when this was through. Dean smiled, enjoying giving Sam crap about taking animal medicine at every opportunity.

"First one's out of the cave," John whispered, holding up a hand to signal the ranchers to wait, let more Gremlins come out before Doc Wal detonated the cave mouth. There were at least twenty good ol boys watching for John to give them the okay to start firing. A second Gremlin skittered from the entrance, sniffing the breeze.

"Aim your stream high, Sammy, so it will arc into them." This time Sam's propane torch was equipped with a larger tank. He was actually their best shot with the crossbow, but couldn't work it right now with his wrist in a cast.

"I know, Dean." Exasperation oozed through his quiet tone.

Dean grinned, grateful beyond measure that he still had Sam to tease. _Sam nearly died. Dad nearly died._

Lost in his thoughts, his palm tightened around the stock of the crossbow and he missed his father's signal. Fire erupted around him, flames arcing downslope, streaming into dozens of Gremlins. Bullets whined through the air. An abrupt explosion punched through the ground, blowing the cave entrance, swallowing it flat as the hill above crumpled on top of the cave, cutting off any of the nastie's retreat back inside.

It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Only taking the time to light them up, Dean shot burning arrow after arrow, wholly satisfied every time he hit the mark and a Gremlin exploded. He felt like a kid at an arcade, screaming joyously beneath the noise, "Die you suckers, die! Burn, babies, burn!" His only regret was that it all went down too quickly.

When all was still and smoky, burning husks of Gremlins were strewn across the little gulley.

Dean found Sam sitting on a rock, forehead wrinkled tight."How's your head?"

Sam attempted to smooth out his features, but it didn't work. "It's fine." Which was Sammy code for hurts like a mother. But the kid was grinning like a loon, pleased at finally chalking this up to a successful hunt so Dean let him be.

John and Doc Wal walked over, trailed by another guy. Had to be a farmer because no rancher would wear that funky straw hat.

John pulled some pills out of his pocket and handed Sam a water bottle. "You okay?"

"Fine," Sam huffed, all teenage petulance, but took the pills anyway.

John extended his hand to Doc Wal, clasping it tightly. "I can't thank you enough." He glanced at Sam. "For everything."

"My pleasure. If you folks hadn't come along, we'd still have a nasty infestation on our hands." Doc patted Dean's arm. "If you ever need anything . . . _anything-_" He cocked his head meaningfully. "You know where to find me."

Dean nodded. It was always handy to have a medical professional willing to help without raising eyebrows.

John handed a slip of paper to the farmer next. "My number. If it turns out this isn't the last of the creatures, call. I'll come right away."

The farmer took the paper, nodding, and patted his shotgun. "Appreciate it, but I think we'll be able to handle ourselves."

John grinned. "That I don't doubt. This county's in good hands."

The farmer pulled his own slip of paper out and handed it to John. "Can't speak for the folks in town, but if you and yours are ever in need, come round to any of our outlying farmsteads. Winchester is a name we won't soon forget."

John thanked him and handed the slip of paper to Dean. "You are freakin kidding me," Dean said when he saw the name. McDonald. "Well then, E-I-E-I-O."

**The End (right?)**


End file.
